A Child of Communism

From earliest childhood I remember the smell of coal. It had to be a breakthrough 1944/45, the Red Army liberated Kielce. During the bombing we moved to the cellars where tenants stored coal for heating their flats..

The smell of coal? How does it define? Well, as coal. The strongest in the cellar was a smell of wood as the wooden partitions were fairly new. But at the smell of wood lurked cool, black, slightly sour smell of coal.

Often there was no light, then we sat by candlelight. I remember well the masses in the basement, in the passage between cells, by candlelight. Of course, back then I did not know about the celebrations of the early Christians in the Roman catacombs, but when I learned my memory melted in my vision of religion. My Father did not move with us to the basement.

So I have earlier memory - fun with the Father blocks on the floor, some so short shutter. And another memory - the coffin with the Father in a room down the hall. She stood on the dais, but to me it seemed like that is very, very high, almost the ceiling.

We stayed at the home of the Foundation Malski. Full name is home to the impoverished intelligentsia and old ladies with landowners - CLICK. The house was located on the street Seminaryjska - how correct name of the street in the cleric.

My parents moved there from Warsaw in 1943 in the hope that Kielce is a safer place. Probably they were, we escaped with the Mother nightmare Uprising. His father died in February 1944.

At home Malski there were more than 50 rooms, each with an area of ​​15 m2. Each room was large tiled stove, which ignited from the corridor. We had two rooms, one of which Father turned to the kitchen coal stove.

In the kitchen was a chest of drawers, table, bed Mother and a bucket of water. The bathroom and the toilet was shared by the residents of our landing. The bathroom had a bathtub but to heat the Wda had to light a fire with a large oven. I do not think I used a bath more than once a year.

The room was white tiled stove, a small desk, a box for toys, wardrobe, bookshelf and my bed. There were still a lot of space to play on the floor.

The next snapshot that Soviet soldiers on the floor in our kitchen. They sat, ate something from canteens, scrolls footwraps. That's all I remember them.

Back still remember Soviet plane, kukuruźnik, in a meadow near the ponds belonging to the brickyard. The pilot took me in, showed his cabin, and finally offered to fly with me. Mother sharply protested. At the next opportunity plane flight I had to wait 26 years.